


Through All Of Time

by shudder



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, M/M, Magic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Talk of War, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shudder/pseuds/shudder
Summary: Immortality is not something Tugger would ever wish upon someone else. It's his curse to bear alone. Until he meets a time traveler from the far future, that is.
Relationships: Mr. Mistoffelees/Rum Tum Tugger
Comments: 22
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on that one tumblr post thats like "a time traveler falls in love with an immortal" but i have an unhealthy obsession with the time/space continuum, so i've put much more thought into how this works than i ever thought i would. this will be sad and possibly gross in some parts.

“I’ve seen you before,” a man standing near Tugger’s shop accused him as he waited for his next client. He was standing a few yards away, but the remark was still clearly directed at him. He couldn’t get a good look at the face with the sun’s glare blinding him, but he didn’t think he recognized that silhouette.

“What do you mean?” Tugger was confused, why had he made that sound like such an awful thing, having been “seen.” Maybe he’d been committing a crime? That was more than likely. He cycled through possibilities in his head, different things he’d done and probably should have been arrested for. It wasn’t a morally pure life that Tugger led.

“In 1654. I saw you.” The man stepped closer, turning parallel with the building so he was no longer obscured by the sun. Tugger could see now that he was short, with a head full of dark hair. He had a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, like he was solving a mystery that only he could see. “And again in 1773. And of course now. You must really like this place to have never left.”

Tugger’s eyes widened, he stepped backward, his foot bumping into a crate behind him. This was a joke, right? It had to be. Tugger knew that there was no one else like him, no one else who had this curse. No one with even the knowledge of its existence. He would’ve met others, felt their presence. He knew the moment he received the curse, felt the power slowly dwindle from his brother as he gave it to him, then fizzle out with his life. That energy, that spark would be in the eyes of the man who stood before him, if he had it. His mind was consumed by thoughts of the curse. 

“I don’t know what you mean, you must be crazy.” He scratched his left side, made hard eye contact. He knew it was pointless trying to convince a man so certain, especially when the man was right. Tugger, of course, _had_ been in 1654, and 1773, and now, in 1913. He just wasn’t sure how the shorter man had known.

Tugger’s accuser shook his head, a small smile forming on his lips. “I’m not crazy and you know it. I’ve been hopping for a few years now, my own years that is, and I’ve never seen the same person so far apart. You’re like me.” He raised an eyebrow.

The blonde, of course, had no idea what he meant. _Hopping? Like him?_ The jargon meant nothing. “I don’t follow.”

“Look, stop fooling around. Here.” His nimble fingers produced a strange object, gesturing that Tugger should take it into his hands. It was small, flat for the most part, with a blackened mirror on one side. Tugger could only guess that it was some sort of contraption or charm that allowed this man to glimpse into, or perhaps even go to, different time periods. Maybe they weren’t too dissimilar, maybe they could know each other, although Tugger doubted anyone could truly understand the fullness of the curse. 

“See? The same.” Taking his object back, the man introduced himself. “I’m Quaxo. And you?”

Deep breath. Release. “They call me Tugger. Short for The Rum Tum Tugger.” He extended his hand, shook with Quaxo. He studied those bright blue eyes, peering into them, trying to find a hint of the Magic. There wasn’t any, not as far as Tugger could tell. Somehow that frightened him, filled his chest with pressure and made his heart—which he had long since lost the need for—race. This was uncommon for a man who had seen as much as he had.

Quaxo seemed not to notice how Tugger felt in the moment, only responding by mocking his name. “The Rum Tum Tugger? That’s not a name. Quaxo Mistoffelees is a name.” 

“It may not have been the type of name people were given when you were born, but people didn’t really have first and last names when I was growing up.” He shrugged. “But, regardless of names, I doubt we’re the ‘same.’ You don’t have any traces of the Magic.” 

Once again Quaxo raised an eyebrow while looking up into Tugger’s eyes, smiling. “Magic isn’t real. I would know, I’m a magician. It’s just tricks of the eye, smoke and mirrors. This,” he held up that smooth black object. “Is science.” 

“What, like Chadwick Darwin?” The Rum Tum Tugger didn’t have much experience with science. Science was about _how_ , and he didn’t much care for _how_ things happened, only _why._ He had spent a large portion of his elongated life looking for _why_ things had happened to him. The rest didn’t matter. 

“‘Chadwick Darwin’? His name was Charles. You sound like you failed bio.” 

Tugger was the one who chuckled this time, despite himself. “I don’t really know what that means, but it didn’t sound too polite. Look, I don’t know who or what you think I am, but you’re mistaken. I’ve been alive for much longer than you have, and I’ll be alive after you’re gone.”

“I’m just here on researching for my dissertation, then I’m back in the 25th century, to live a life of a hundred or so consecutive years, with short hops to the past. That doesn’t mean I won’t die someday. And that goes for both of us. Unless that was a veiled threat?” His manner seemed to get more intense as he spoke, but his voice never lost its playful edge. 

Tugger ignored the question, but only because he hadn’t made up his mind on if this man posed a threat or not. Regardless, he decided to believe the story Quaxo told of being a visitor from the future. Stranger things had happened, he supposed. “A dissertation on what?”

Quaxo shrugged, his mouth turning into a bunched up line across his face. “I’m here to get a feel for the culture before and after the Great War. How it changed the atmosphere and citizen’s feelings on their country’s leaders and stuff. I’m kind of winging it more than I’d like.” 

“Uh, great war?”

“You know, the war to end all wars? Trench warfare, all that stuff. Oh my- You really don’t know, do you? You _really_ didn’t do well in school, huh.” Quaxo replied. Tugger realized he still thought Tugger was also from the same era as him despite what he’d previously said. He didn’t trust him with his secret just yet, however, so he decided to just go along with it.

“Yeah, y’know, I guess I just never really paid much attention. My thoughts were consumed by other things.” Of course, schooling wasn’t really something Tugger ever pursued, not in the sense that Quaxo meant. He apprenticed under Macavity for some time, learning the ins and outs of the power he had possessed, the great Magic, but that was brief, before the power had overtaken his master and caused Tugger’s affliction. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he gestured toward a petite pale woman who had walked up to the awning while he spoke. “I have a client.” 

He walked with the woman into the store, glad she showed up when she did. While the two of them discussed the finer details of the repairs her clock needed, Tugger continued to wonder about Quaxo. Something about the man himself intrigued him to no end, but more importantly, he thought about what he had said. He had mentioned a war, a war among all the world. That was not something he was excited to hear about; even if he was in no danger of harm, people killing each other wasn’t Tugger’s favorite thing. He tended to think a strong alcohol and maybe a fistfight could solve anything, not hundreds of senseless deaths. Maybe this had actually been “the war to end all wars” and humans could learn from it.

Only time would tell.


	2. Chapter 2

Tugger blinked once, twice, again. Was it really him? Had he finally come back for him, all these years later? Tugger had assumed he’d never see him again, and had just been thankful for the warning; he’d been through almost his whole life alone, and was prepared to continue to be alone. However, when he saw Quaxo, waiting in front of his shop like nothing had happened these past seven years, the memories of the war all came rushing back. 

He had to catch himself on the doorway for a second at that thought, visions of his comrades in the trenches came rushing back: flesh rotting off feet, men stumbling and unable to think due to trench fever, waking up buried in dozens of live rats. He could feel them even now, crawling over his skin.

His living-horror was softened briefly by Quaxo seeing him, placing a hand on his arm. “Hi.” He said it softly, almost a decade of silence summed up by one word. Tugger hadn’t realized how much he had missed the man. They’d only had one interaction, but it was the first time in millennia that he could be (almost) honest about his experiences. And “almost” was as honest as he had gotten to be in just as long. 

“Hi.” Tugger placed his own hand on Quaxo’s, then stepped back, letting go. His memories of the trenches had been momentarily quelled. “Come inside.” The walls were lined with clocks, some ticking and tocking, some silent and still. Each one had ornate carvings on all sides, proof of someone loving and caring for each object before ending up in Tugger’s shop, in various states of disrepair. The workbench held a large cuckoo clock, the bird inside sticking out and a tiny screwdriver next to it.

“Just up here.” Tugger pointed upstairs, to the living unit above the workspace. Quaxo followed him quietly, placing one hand on his back as they walked up the stairs. They had a quiet familiarity, seemingly strengthened by a bond of years, despite this being only their second meeting. It felt to Tugger that Quaxo was the only one who would truly listen to what he had gone through. Even for a man that knew he would never die, the horrors of war were impossible to deal with alone. Alone. That’s what he was, even around others. Even with the men and women he would connect with, share a night or two, he was alone. Not with Quaxo, though. He had made him feel seen in a way no one else had, even just in their brief conversation years earlier. 

They sat down at Tugger’s kitchen table. Unlike downstairs, his decorations and belongings upstairs were quite nondescript. A few books on a shelf next to a piano, a table with two chairs, and a loveseat in the corner filled up the bulk of the sitting room. Tugger never seemed to be home much, so he didn’t feel the need to fill his living space with belongings. He spoke up first. “Half a decade. That’s how long you left me.”

“Left you? You could’ve visited me, but no, I had to come all the way back and hope you were still roleplaying a clockmaker. How often do you come here? How long do you stay?” He tried to seem serious, but his smile betrayed his demeanor. He was being funny, but Tugger realized he was going to have to come clean about his life if he wanted to earn and keep Quaxo’s friendship.

“All the time.” He took a deep breath. “I’m different than you, Quaxo. I know I said we were the same last time, and that’s fine, but it was a lie. I can’t die. I’ve tried, truly and honestly tried, but nothing happens. It’s been like this for centuries.” He shrugged, uncomfortable with how vulnerable he was being, acting nothing like his usual persona. This was raw, pure emotion, not even a hint of the bravado he usually filled himself with. It was terrifying. 

Quaxo furrowed his eyebrows. “What, like magic?”

He seemed to be joking, but Tugger only nodded, slowly, solemnly. “I was trained by my eldest brother, but something went wrong. He got...greedy. Wanted everything. It was awful.” His chest seemed to sink into itself, he felt like he was shrinking inside his own body. He hadn’t spoken of this since Munkustrap’s passing, and the wound it had left was still as blistering and painful as ever. Regardless of the pain, he continued. “Eventually, it overtook him. His lust for power killed him, and in turn left me un-killable. Ironic, no?”

Whatever joke Quaxo had inside him at the beginning of Tugger’s story had vanished by the end. He seemed to realize that this was serious, not something that could be joked about or brushed off. However, he still didn’t fully believe him. “Magic isn’t real. That’s one of the first things you learn growing up. Either you’re a good liar, or a better secret keeper.”

It became apparent to Tugger that if Quaxo still didn’t believe him about the magic, it meant that one thing he had always dreaded about happening, wouldn’t end up happening. If Quaxo, who was from the future, didn’t know about the magic, then it means his secret was never found out and spread to the world. It was one less thing he had to desperately worry about constantly, and he could reassign that concern “quiet throb.” He didn’t really know how to respond to that question, however, so he just scrunched up his face.

It was silent for a moment, while they thought. Then Tugger spoke up once again. “The war was awful. I thought about you more than I’d like to admit. I wished you would come and help me.”

Quaxo scratched his head. “It’s hardly been a week for me, since we last spoke. I didn’t even think about saying hi. And now that I know you wanted me to, I don’t want to go and visit you and mess up our timelines together. I want to be your friend, Rum Tum Tugger. But I can’t promise that I’ll come here often. I don’t have my own machine.” He pulled his time travel object out of his pocket. “This one belongs to the university.” 

“We’ll stay in touch.” Tugger smiled, a warmth returning to his body that he hadn’t remembered he could feel. He was finally free from his loneliness, his isolation. He had someone he could speak openly with, who seemed like he would listen. It might be years, decades even, before the two met again after this time, but he would wait. It was worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

Every day from then on was spent waiting for Quaxo. He assumed every sound at the door of his workshop was him, even when he was expecting someone else. The work he had once loved, the delicate carving and screwing of the tiny mechanisms inside the clocks, suddenly brought him no joy. It actually started to bore him. He was no longer fascinated by the world around him, and food barely had a taste. He just wanted his friend, that strange younger man from the future. The worst part was not knowing when his waiting would be over.

In fact, Quaxo might never come back. Tugger always tried not to think of that, it hurt too much. It hurt much more than any of the bullets he had taken in the war. 

War. Another thing Tugger tried not to think of. Every time he thought of it, it was like he was back there. In the trenches. What was it that poet had said? “His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin.” He kept seeing it, as real as day. The nightmares were the worst part. He couldn’t escape in the dreams, like he could when he was at his desk. He couldn’t change his focus, throw water on his face, anything to bring himself back. At night, he had only the hanging faces. He would awaken in a sweat, alone in his room, clutching at his covers. It would take him a moment to realize where he was, that he was safe, that the terrors were in the past. 

Somehow, even in those moments, Tugger longed for Quaxo. They had never even touched, but somehow he knew that he would have soft hands and even softer hair. A feeling blossomed in his chest whenever he thought of Quaxo, something he hadn’t felt in so long he didn’t have a word for it. _Joy_ was the closest he got, but even then something felt missing. He wanted, no, _needed_ Quaxo’s touch. 

Which leads back to the waiting. It had been 297 days since their dining-room conversation, and each day felt like seven. Despite knowing that it could be years until the next time he saw Quaxo, Tugger couldn’t help but count the days. 

The sound of feet on the hard flooring of his workspace pulled him out of his stupor. He saw the shoes first, and then slowly his eyes focused on Quaxo’s face. What impeccable timing. He stood up, stretching his arms above his head. “It’s been too long.”

“Really? It’s only been a month for me.” Quaxo started to laugh at his own joke, but quickly simmered down. “Oh. You were serious. I’m sorry. How long has it been?”

Tugger told him, and tried to play it cool. His mind was racing almost as fast as his heart, but he just shrugged. “I guess the numbers don’t mean much, but I do fix clocks for a living, so there must be something the ticking is leading up to.” He stepped closer to Quaxo, who in turn took a step toward him. They were now standing close enough to whisper.

“How’s the future?” Tugger asked breathily, not wanting anyone to hear their conspiring, but more pressingly just wanting this moment to himself. He would step closer if he could, as if stepping into Quaxo’s body would free him. 

“It’s a secret.” The dark haired man whispered back. For a moment they just stood together, looking into each other’s eyes. It was calm. Serene. Tugger thought he heard the ocean. Quaxo’s eyes were a deep layered gold, and it made Tugger want to keep looking at them forever. 

He felt that he had been staring too long, and looked away. “Well, you’re welcome to look around. I need to finish this one bit before I can stop for the day.” He gestured widely, and watched as Quaxo started inspecting a particularly ornate cuckoo clock next to the window. His attention was turned back to the internals of the timepiece he’d been working on, a pocket watch that was starting to need constant rewinding.

It was easier to work now. He had, on his own admission, been doing subpar work as of recent. However, Quaxo’s energy had a calming effect on him. Just seeing him, knowing his friend was here and he didn’t have to worry about the next time he’d see him. He was able to quickly and precisely get the watch working as normal, and set it down to turn his attention toward the other man.

Quaxo was studying a grandfather clock that stood in the corner, tall and stern. “How old is this?” Tugger got up to stand next to him, their bodies inches apart. 

“A hundred years, give or take. Got it from an old man who died before I finished tuning it up.” He sighed. “Never ended up fixing it.” He looked down at Quaxo, who looked up at him, and their eyes met. “How long are you staying?” It wasn’t a question he wanted to ask, and it definitely was something he wished he didn’t need to ask. But it was there, looming in the air between them. Their interactions were on a timer. 

“A few hours. I know in science-fiction and stuff you can stay however long you want and return whenever you want to, but I do have to be gone for as long as my body is. It also means I can’t go back to any time after I was born.” He said this nonchalantly, like it was the most uninteresting thing in the world to him, but Tugger found it fascinating. He couldn’t believe that out of all the time periods in history, even just the history he’d lived through, Quaxo would choose to spend his limited time on Earth in 1800’s Italy. Even the Roman empire had been better.

That thought reminded him of a grim truth he had tried not to think of since starting their friendship; Quaxo would die one day, and Tugger would have to go on without him. Tugger had lived alone for centuries, through the rise and fall of empires; he’d experienced loved ones passing on before. Somehow, though, he knew this one would be different. Worse. 

He brushed that thought aside, however. There would be plenty of time later to think about the great tragedy of mortality, for it _was_ a tragedy, regardless of how Tugger longed for it. Now, was the time to entertain his new friend. “So, what do you want to do?”

Quaxo scratched his ear. “Well, truthfully, I’m writing an essay on culinary styles of the 1800’s, so if you wanted to make me your favorite dish, I would appreciate it.”

“Sure, alright. Let’s get cooking.” Tugger grabbed Quaxo by the hand, quietly enjoying the feeling of his skin, and led him to the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

Time moved faster after that visit. Well, maybe not faster, Tugger knew all too well how long a day was, but he seemed to mind less. Sometimes Quaxo would visit, one time he even came by twice in a month, but mostly Tugger just worked. He kept busy, and that was that. The clocks needed fixing, and his hands needed something to do. Most of the time, that was that. 

But occasionally he wanted more. He wanted a life where he could see Quaxo whenever he wanted. He wanted to be able to have his friend when the memories got the best of him, when he couldn’t pull himself away from the horrors of the war. It had been twenty years previous, but he still woke up with his sheets drenched in his own sweat some days.

He was lonely. Somehow, knowing Quaxo, it was lonelier than before, when he was acknowledging that. It wasn’t like before, when he was just waiting for him. No, it was just empty when he was gone, and full when he was around. His heart always soared, and he felt like he could gaze upon his features forever. Tugger hadn’t ever put much thought into love, had always just had sex when he felt like it, with whatever random person who would have him.

This was different. Quaxo was different. When he was around Quaxo, his chest filled to the brim with emotion, and he wanted to never be apart from him. It was a scary feeling, if he was being honest with himself. Needing someone so much, even when they were away. Clinging to the moments where they were together. He wanted Quaxo. 

He imagined what it’d be like, holding him closely. How would Quaxo’s hair smell, would he be put off by their height difference? Quaxo’s head would fit perfectly under Tugger’s chin, curled up into his arms. So badly did he want to curl up and fall asleep together like that, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen. Nothing about what he wanted was realistic, and Quaxo deserved something real. Something substantial, with someone who could be there around the clock. Not someone like Tugger.

It took him a bit to come to terms with his feelings for Quaxo. He didn’t want to be in love. Love wasn’t easy, especially not for Tugger. He’d tried it before, at the very beginning of his time with the curse. It was naive, thinking he could ever let someone in and not be ruined. 

He’d learned his lesson.

He promised himself never again. He had promised himself after he lost Bombalurina that he’d never love again. It had been easy, truthfully. He had cut himself off from everyone, took the mourning period to shut himself in. He never saw any of his friends from that era again. It took him years to lose the guilt of it, but he knew that guilt would be easier than anything else he could have done.

So now, with Quaxo waltzing his way into his life, it was ridiculous for him to even consider. He wouldn’t think about holding his hand, nor of laying in bed with him late into the morning. He definitely wouldn’t let himself think of the way his eyes sparkle when he’s telling a joke, nor of the way his hair seems to always be the perfect mix of “unkempt mess” and “boyish charm.”

Oh.

Oh, dear.

Tugger was in love with a PhD student from hundreds of years in the future, wasn’t he? 

That can’t be good.


	5. Chapter 5

Tugger moved to the United States right around 1930, following much discussion with Quaxo. He had never wanted to move, didn’t think it was worth it. He’d seen plenty of action in Italy, the rise and fall of Rome even, so why leave now? Quaxo just kept insisting he needed to move, but wouldn’t give any specifics as to why. Just “something big coming.”

Tugger soon found out, of course. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Quaxo having him flee instead of moving somewhere he could actually help, but he knew it was at least partly out of concern. He was still plagued with the thoughts of the first World War, the images haunting him relentlessly. Quaxo was at least saving him from more events to add to the arsenal his brain leveraged against him at night.

It was sweet, in a way.

It didn’t deafen the pain of the massive number of deaths Tugger had to grow accustomed to seeing played out in the news.

Somehow, eventually, the world moved on. Life kept going, as it had every time.

In the U.S., he watched the Cold War play out. Quaxo visited infrequently during that time. He said he couldn’t find an excuse as to why to visit, but that he was saving up for his own time-travel machine. That was alright. His heart still ripped in half every time Quaxo left. That was alright, too. Tugger was in love, with no hope of resolution.

That was the most alright of the three.

Quaxo liked the seventies. At least, he liked discotheques. So, they went and danced disco together quite often. The bright lights, the fashion, the men. Quaxo couldn’t get enough of it at all. Tugger didn’t care for it all, he preferred the stylings of the fifties, but he loved Quaxo, so he soon grew to love disco just for him. Their bodies were free on the dancefloor, moving as one to the music. 

It almost made Tugger brave enough to pull Quaxo aside for a jaunt, like so many of the guys were doing. He’d thought of it, running his hands through that hair, leaving marks on those shoulders and watching them slowly fade the next few times they met up. He wanted to be close to him, really touch him. There was no way it was happening, though. Every time the words almost left his mouth, every time he almost tilted his head toward the bathroom, with those unmistakable eyes, someone got there first.

After a first few visits in the 70’s, Quaxo started going around with a skinny fellow, a man who had slicked-back black hair and a twin sister. The sister, Tantomile, and Tugger got along quite well, and having her around meant they didn’t have to worry about messing up the male/female ratio when they showed up to the club, but damn if he didn’t hate that sly motherfucker Quaxo was with. Hate was a strong word, but Tugger never felt jealousy. Jealousy was beneath him; that was for mortals. The Rum Tum Tugger has never had the energy or patience for jealousy.

So, hate was the word he chose. 

It’s accuracy wasn’t important.

The feelings were essentially the same. His heart would pound when those two met up, his ears would go hot when he saw the glances they shared. The ringing in his ears was loud enough to drown out Tantomile asking if he wanted another drink. He was unsure if she noticed what he was upset about, but if she did, she didn’t say anything. That was something to be thankful for, at least. 

“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” he replied, giving her a small smile. It was nice having a friend, even if he knew he’d have to isolate himself from her sooner or later. That thought was pushed out of his mind before he could even fully think it. 

She handed him the glass when she got it. “So, you’re sweet on him, huh?”

Well, that was the end of being thankful for her ignoring it. There was no use denying it, though. “Yeah. Have been for a while now. But Coricopat’s such a casanova.”

She laughed at that. “You have no idea what he’s like at home. Total nerd, and definitely not worth Quaxo’s time. You should go after that cat if you want him.”

Tugger shook his head. “Nah, let the kid be with who he wants. I can’t just go around breaking up every happy couple ‘cause I want to be the one he’s shagging.”

“That’s nice of you. You’re a real cool cat, you know that?” She put her hand on his shoulder, squeezed. Her eyes told him she knew he wasn’t as cool about this as he was pretending to be, but this time she really didn’t say anything. 

At the cue, Coricopat and Quaxo sat down at the table. Quaxo looked perfect, his hair shining under the pulsing lights. He had that glint in his eyes that Tugger so loved, and that shiny smile. He was perfect, and perfectly unattainable. At least since him and Cori had been going around, he’d been coming to visit more often. More opportunities to see the smile that he dreamt about.

Even if it was directed at someone else. Even if seeing Quaxo give him that smile submerged his whole being underwater, ice cold and struggling for air. Even if the dreams of that smile were now tainted by the smirk of a casanova who was never informed that greaser hair had gone out of style. 

Even then.

Tugger reached over and ruffled Quaxo’s hair. “What say we blow this pop stand?” Quaxo asked, giving Tugger a specific look.

“Let’s,” replied Tugger, standing up. “Gotta get you home before midnight or you’ll turn into a pumpkin.” As he made to leave, while Coricopat and Quaxo said their unnecessarily long and innuendo-filled goodbyes, Tantomile grabbed his arm and winked. 

“You got this, tiger,” she mouthed.

Tugger and Quaxo walked to the car, not saying much. It was best not to, who knew who could be listening this close to the disco club. They sat for a moment before Tugger started the engine, while he was trying to think of a way to start the conversation he wanted to have. Everything sounded either too friendly, or too forward. Eventually he settled on turning the keys while asking, “How’re things with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome?”

Quaxo gazed out the windows, watching the city roll by. “Oh, just as good as they can be, for a guy that doesn’t know I’m from the future.” He didn’t make eye contact, but Tugger could feel how much his secret was eating him up.

Tugger was an expert in world shattering secrets. “Sucks doesn’t it?”

“You could say that again.”

He didn’t. There were lots of things he wanted to say, hundreds of ways he wanted to confess, but he didn’t. He didn’t know how to, truthfully. His mind was filled with a multitude of ways he could express his true feelings, yes, but for every expression of his love he knew there was an equally heartfelt rejection waiting for him. So he stayed quiet. Just enjoyed Quaxo’s company, the feeling of being close and open with someone who he loved. It was nice. They listened to an 8-track Tugger had, and sang along at the top of their lungs. 

When they got to Tugger’s house, they said their goodbyes at the door. It was only a formality that Quaxo rode home with him, he could’ve disappeared whenever he wanted, but it was a tradition they shared. A way to make some normalcy in their friendship. He hated the goodbyes, but at least on his porch they could at least pretend it was normal. 

Quaxo left, and once again, he was alone with only thoughts of the man he loved that he could never have.


End file.
